


Jason Haynes: Matchmaker

by Persiflage



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Bernie Wolfe: World's Okay-est Lesbian, Canon Schmanon, Cooking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Gardens & Gardening, Massage, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Bern, Spa Treatments, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26529322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: Canon Divergent: Jason plays matchmaker between his Aunty Serena and his friend Bernie Wolfe.
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 58
Kudos: 154





	1. Meeting You Was Fate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sevtacular](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevtacular/gifts).



> I was inspired to write this by the sight of Jemma Redgrave in a white vest top from her appearance in the TV show _Judge John Deed_. I've no idea how Jason managed to play matchmaker for Bernie and Serena, but that's the role he took upon himself, so here we are...

Serena gets home from work after an appallingly long night shift and walks into her kitchen to find a leggy blonde with damp hair and soulful brown eyes leaning against the counter. She’s barefoot, wearing a white vest and grey jogging bottoms, and is quite clearly not wearing a bra since her nipples are obviously visible beneath the vest top thanks to the way the sunlight is hitting her. She’s got a mug in her left hand and a half eaten banana in her right and is chewing slowly and with obvious weariness.

“Who the hell are you?” Serena demands, shocked at how stirring the sight of the woman is.

The blonde straightens, apparently with difficulty if the wince is anything to go by, and swaps the banana to her left hand before holding out her right. “Bernie Wolfe,” she says, smiling tiredly at Serena. Serena must look as blank as she feels because she drops her hand, her smile vanishes, and she frowns in confusion. “Um, didn’t Jason tell you I was moving in?”

“No, he did not. He omitted to mention it.”

“Oh. Gosh. Um, sorry. He said – he said he’d asked you. He said – um – that you’d be glad of a housemate while he’s away, and he knew I was looking for temporary accommodation, so he said I’d be perfect for you.” The woman’s face falls, and she ducks her head. “I’m sorry. I’ll – uh – I’ll go and get dressed and get my stuff together. I can be out of here in about twenty minutes.”

She steps carefully around Serena, a flush of pink along her cheekbones to indicate her obvious embarrassment, then she hurries out of the kitchen and down the hall.

After a few moments Serena hears her walking about in the guestroom above her head and she pulls out her mobile phone, ringing Jason and moving out of the kitchen onto the back porch.

The conversation is rather fraught – Jason’s clearly upset that Serena’s unhappy about the arrival of a perfect stranger into her home, insisting that he’d told her about Bernie last week and that she had definitely agreed that it would be nice to have someone else around the house while he is at the summer school she’d encouraged him to sign up for so that he could decide whether or not he wanted to further his education.

Serena, however, has absolutely no recollection of any such conversation last week and while the idea of having a housemate during Jason’s absence is not unappealing, she would definitely have insisted on meeting said housemate before allowing anyone to move in.

“Where did you meet this woman, anyway?” Serena asks.

“At Holby,” Jason says, sounding a bit put out. “Aunty Serena, don’t you listen to anything I tell you? I told you, several weeks ago, about Major Bernie being airlifted to the hospital from Afghanistan after she got blown up by an IED. Mr Self and Mr Valentine operated on her, and she’s been having physiotherapy and psychotherapy at the hospital ever since.”

Serena does have a vague recollection of Jason mentioning a ‘Major Bernie’ but had thought he was talking about a man, had pictured some grumpy old man with a leathery face and a stentorian voice, not a gorgeous, leggy blonde with pink toenails. 

“Psychotherapy?” 

“She has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Jason says. “From getting blown up and from losing comrades in the war zones where she’s been working. She’s with the RAMC – that’s another reason I thought she’d be good as a housemate – she’s a surgeon, like you.”

“Good god, you don’t mean that’s Major Berenice Wolfe, the world famous trauma surgeon, who was in my kitchen just now?”

“Yes,” says Jason, sounding a little exasperated now. “I have to go now, Aunty Serena, my first class is starting soon.”

“Of course, love. Enjoy your day.”

“Please be nice to Major Bernie,” Jason says. “I think she could use a friend, too.”

He hangs up before Serena can answer and she takes a moment to shake her head, trying to dispel the sense of unreality that’s come over her, then she turns around and moves into the kitchen just as Major Bernie steps hesitantly across the threshold. 

She’s changed the jogging trousers for skinny blue jeans and pulled a red flannel checked shirt on over the vest, leaving only a couple of buttons unfastened at the top. She’s also wearing black leather ankle boots with a zip at the side and thick socks which are pulled up over the bottom of the jeans. She’s carrying a battered leather jacket in one hand and has an Army kitbag in her other hand.

“Your keys,” she says, holding them out. “I’m really sorry that I sprang myself on you. I had–”

“It’s fine, Bernie,” Serena says gently, smiling apologetically for interrupting her. “I’ve just spoken to Jason and – well, there was a bit of a misunderstanding, that’s all. You can stay.”

Hope lights up the blonde’s face, despite her obvious weariness and – now that Serena knows to look for it – pain. “R-r-really. Are – are you sure? I don’t want you to feel you have to let me stay just because Jason–” 

“Bernie.” Serena doesn’t hesitate to interrupt a second time. She moves over to the doorway and folds Bernie’s long, thin fingers over the keys. “Stay. Please. It’ll be rather wonderful to have someone my own age to talk to, especially as you’re a fellow surgeon, or so I understand from Jason.”

“I – um – yes. Although out of action right at the moment.”

“Right, well why don’t you leave your kitbag in the hallway, hang up your coat, take off your boots, and then come and talk to me while I make some breakfast. I’ve just come off a rather hellish night shift and I need some food in me before I can go and catch up on my sleep.”

Bernie nods, then picks up the kitbag from where she’d rested it against her legs, and Serena spots the wince again. 

“Here,” she says, slipping her hands around the straps, her fingers accidentally brushing against Bernie’s. “I don’t think you can manage that, really, can you?”

“Um – well – it’s just, well, just – no, not really.” 

“C’mon then, soldier, let me carry it back upstairs for you. I don’t want to have to drag you back to the hospital because you’ve injured yourself trying to carry it.”

The pinking of Bernie’s cheeks is really quite attractive, Serena thinks as she lifts the bag onto her own shoulder, waving off the blonde’s stuttered thanks. She carries the bag back upstairs and into the guestroom that’s between her own and Elinor’s bedrooms, setting it down next to the bed, then she heads back downstairs, noting the leather jacket now hanging alongside her own coats and the zipped boots on the shoe rack below the coat hooks.

She finds Bernie sitting at the kitchen table and asks, “Do you want some breakfast? I was thinking of making scrambled eggs on toast with sausages. I’m always ravenous after a night shift and it’s worse when my shift involves complicated surgeries.”

“I – uh – I’d like that, thank you.”

Serena flashes her a smile and gets a shy one in response, the blonde peering at her through her rather messy fringe. She goes to the fridge and starts getting out the makings for breakfast, asking as she does so, “Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”

“O-okay.” 

Serena keeps her back turned as Bernie talks, hesitantly and with a number of filler words at first until she gets onto the subject of her work as a trauma surgeon for the RAMC, at which point she becomes properly articulate and sounds increasingly passionate. Serena listens in fascination as Bernie explains about the IED that her driver hadn’t fully managed to avoid hitting, about how she’d ended up hanging upside down in the vehicle in a poppy field, and about being airlifted back to England.

“How is it that you ended up at Holby?” asks Serena as she serves up their scrambled eggs on toast and sausages, setting one plate in front of Bernie and the other in front of her own usual seat. She fetches the pot of coffee that’s just finished brewing and a jug of orange juice from the fridge, setting them down between their plates.

“My family lives here. My soon-to-be-ex-husband works at St James’ – he’s an orthopaedic surgeon. My daughter Charlie, Charlotte, is doing a legal internship here before she returns to university in September, and my son Cam, Cameron, is about to begin his first F1 rotation at St James’.”

“Ah, another member of the embittered ex-wives’ club,” Serena says with a smirk.

To her surprise Bernie blushes and ducks her head, busying herself cutting up her breakfast. “Not – um – not exactly,” she mutters, before filling her mouth.

“Oh?” Serena finds her curiosity aroused by this response. She waits while Bernie chews, swallows, then swallows a mouthful of juice.

“I – um – I asked Marcus for a divorce because I realised I’m gay – well, technically, a lesbian.” Bernie flicks a glance up at her, her expression almost fearful, as if she’s scared Serena will kick her out at this revelation.

Serena frowns a little, then asks, “You didn’t know before? Yet you must be around my age.”

“I think I sort of did know, but I was denying it,” Bernie says. “There were girls at school that I had crushes on. And once I got to university–” She does that head duck again that Serena’s beginning to think is both unconscious and characteristic of the woman before her. “Well, let’s just say, I spent most of my time working very hard to impress my women instructors, but not as hard with the men.”

Serena laughs lightly at this, then focuses her attention on finishing her breakfast, but Bernie’s words have struck a rather uncomfortable chord with her. She pushes the thought from her mind and asks, “What was the precise nature of your injuries from the IED, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I had an unstable C5/C6 spinal fracture with a traumatised cervical disc in the same area, and a pseudoaneurysm in the right ventricle. Guy Self fixed the fracture and removed the disc, and Oliver Valentine fixed my heart – well, he had to manually restart it on the table, from what I gather – but I’m taking longer to heal than I’d anticipated.” She sighs. “I’m normally a very fast healer.”

Serena frowns. “Have you had such a major – no pun intended,” she adds, to a brief half smile from Bernie, “surgery before?”

Bernie shakes her head. “The last significant surgery I had was when I had a C-section for Charlotte.” She snorts. “That was twenty years ago.”

“Well, I’m sure that as a trauma surgeon you know that the surgery you’re describing is rather more significant than a C-section, so it’s hardly surprising it’s taking you a while to recover. How long has it been since the surgery?”

“A little over four weeks.”

Serena huffs. “There you go, then. Four weeks is nothing, particularly if Valentine had to restart your heart.” Impulsively she reaches across the table and grabs Bernie’s hand as she sets down her empty juice glass. “Try to be patient.” 

“I will. Thank you. And thank you for breakfast.”

“You’re welcome.” Serena gets to her feet and starts clearing the table, feeling oddly touched when Bernie offers to wash up as she brings the empty coffee pot and juice jug across to the counter next to the sink.

“You can do the pans,” she says. “I’ve got a dishwasher for everything else. I always load it up during the course of the day, then run it during the evening after dinner.”

“Okay.” 

They shuffle around each other in the space between the sink and the dishwasher, bumping hips and elbows until Bernie, her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, is settled at the sink with a bowlful of soapy water and Serena closes the door on the dishwasher. She feels a bit self conscious about those bumping limbs, but decides she’s being silly.

“Help yourself to whatever you want for lunch or snacks during the day,” Serena says. “I’ll probably get up again around five o’clock.” She grins. “I’m off work for the next couple of days, so you’ll have the pleasure of my company.”

“I’ll look forward to that,” Bernie says softly, a shy smile gracing her lips. “Could I make you dinner this evening, by way of thanks for letting me move in?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Well, I was thinking I might introduce you to one of my favourite Afghan dishes: Qorma Lowand. It’s the Afghan equivalent of chicken curry and it’s served with rice.” She suddenly looks bashful. “I – uh – I’ll understand if you’d rather not let a stranger loose in your kitchen, though.”

Serena rubs a hand up and down Bernie’s forearm, absently noticing that it’s well-muscled and that her skin feels incredibly soft. “I don’t mind at all. So long as you clear up after yourself.”

Bernie’s smile is a little tremulous, which is when Serena realises she’s still rubbing the blonde’s arm. She just about manages not to snatch her hand away, smiling apologetically instead. “Sorry about that. I’m naturally tactile and I tend to forget not everyone’s the same.”

“It’s – it’s fine.” Bernie turns her attention back to the saucepan that Serena used for scrambling the eggs. “I promise that I’ll clear up and wash up afterwards. What – um – what time do you want to eat?”

“Seven o’clock, since Jason’s not here.”

Bernie nods. “Okay.”

Serena gives her a smile. “I look forward to having dinner with you, Berenice Wolfe. But now I’m going to bed.” She stifles a yawn, pats Bernie on the shoulder without thinking about it, then crosses the kitchen and heads upstairs, weariness suddenly weighing down her body.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Serena wakes around five o’clock to the buzzing of her phone, which she’d left plugged in to charge atop her nightstand, and the scent of spices which have wafted upstairs to tease her nose.

She grabs her phone, unplugging it, then checking to see who’s calling her. She is unsurprised to find that it’s Jason.

“Hello love, how was your first day?”

“It was very good, Aunty Serena.” He proceeds to give her a detailed rundown of his day and she lounges back against the pillows, listening and murmuring acknowledgements so that he knows she’s paying attention.

“Did you let Major Bernie stay with you?” he asks at last.

“I did. She’s currently making dinner by way of thanks for letting her move in.”

“Good. Do you like her?”

“Yes, I do. She’s intelligent, witty, and very passionate about her work. She seems quite shy, too.”

“I also noticed that. She seems less shy when she’s talking about her work.”

Serena chuckles. “Yes, that’s what I noticed.”

“I hope you enjoy having Bernie around,” Jason says. “I have to go now so I can have dinner with my host family.”

“Alright, love. Have a nice evening. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, shall I?”

“That would be acceptable,” Jason says. “At five o’clock?”

“Yes, if you like.”

“I do. Goodbye, Aunty Serena. Please say hello to Major Bernie, for me.”

“I will. Goodbye, love.”

She gets out of bed and heads into her ensuite to carry out her ablutions; afterwards, she pulls on a pair of pale blue jeans (not nearly as skinny as Bernie’s) and a cream short-sleeve blouse before sliding her feet into her slippers. Then she grabs her phone and pads downstairs to the kitchen where the scents have grown very enticing indeed.

She can’t help pausing in the kitchen doorway, leaning up against the door jamb to watch Bernie Wolfe unobserved. She’s got the radio on and it’s playing ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale’ by Procul Harem, which she’s gently swaying to as she works. There’s an array of ingredients laid out on the counter in a neat, one might almost say regimented, fashion, and she’s currently cutting some chicken into cubes. Serena finds herself mesmerised by Bernie’s hands as she works, recalling how strong those long, thin fingers had felt when she’d grasped them this morning. She feels a shiver down her spine, despite the warmth of the day, and frowns at the strange reaction.

It’s not until Bernie has put her cubed chicken into a bowl containing some kind of paste, or so it appears to Serena, which she surmises is the reason for the rather delicious scents that had wafted up the stairs, then covered the bowl in clingfilm, and turns towards the fridge that she spots Serena and jolts to a halt, her free hand clutching at her chest. Serena rushes forward, taking the bowl from her hand and setting it on the counter, then guides Bernie into a chair by the kitchen table.

“Shit, I didn’t think,” Serena says worriedly. “Are you okay? You’re not going to have a heart attack, are you?”

“I’m not having a heart attack,” Bernie says, her voice gone low and husky, which Serena seems to feel in the pit of her stomach, for some reason. “But you did startle me really badly.”

“I am so sorry, Bernie,” Serena says, rubbing a hand across the tops of the blonde’s shoulders. 

“It’s fine, Serena, honestly. It’s your house, after all, so if you want to keep an eye on your new house guest, that’s your business and I cannot, will not, object.”

“I wasn’t keeping an eye on you,” Serena says immediately. “Not in the sense of spying on you, anyway. It just made such a nice change to see someone else cooking that I got caught up in watching you.”

Bernie raises her eyebrows at this but doesn’t offer any commentary. She just pulls herself to her feet with a slight wince, then retrieves the bowl from the counter and puts it in the fridge.

“Anything I can do to help?” Serena asks as Bernie glances at her phone, checking the time, she presumes.

Bernie gives her a smile. “No. The chicken needs to sit in the marinade before I can do the next bit, and it’s too soon to start the rice, either. I’ll just wash up the stuff I’ve already used – best way to keep on top of it.”

Serena nods, then slides onto the chair that Bernie had temporarily occupied. “Do you enjoy cooking?”

Bernie shrugs one shoulder as she runs hot water into the washing up bowl. “I haven’t done a vast amount of it since I joined the Army. It wasn’t my responsibility when I was serving overseas and Marcus rarely let me cook when I was home – he always had this idea that I wasn’t a good cook because I once burnt the dinner when Cam ran into a door and cut his forehead open. He must have been about three and he was racing about the house – excited that I was home on leave, I suspect – and of course he bled heavily, which terrified him as much as the pain did. By the time I’d got the cut cleaned and dressed, changed him into clothes that weren’t heavily stained with blood, and calmed him down, the dinner was a write off. Of course, Marcus blamed me for everything – said if I wasn’t away all the time then Cam wouldn’t have got so excited when I finally turned up again, and of course, if I spent more time at home, I’d be a better cook.”

“What an absolute arse!” exclaims Serena, totally furious on Bernie’s behalf.

The blonde chuckles, aiming a grin over her shoulder at Serena as she makes a start on the washing up. “Anyway, he rarely liked to have me in the kitchen after that, and certainly not unsupervised – he claimed it wouldn’t take much for me to burn the house down.”

“Thank god you’re divorcing him,” Serena says with fervour, which elicits another chuckle. 

“He especially didn’t like me cooking ‘foreign muck’ as he called it – by which he meant things like Qorma Lowand, of course, not lasagne or pizza.”

“Well, his loss is definitely my gain if the lovely scents wafting about this kitchen are anything to go by.”

Bernie shakes her head. “You haven’t tasted it, yet.”

“I have every faith,” Serena assures her.

“Well, I must admit, Charlie always seemed to enjoy it when I cooked it for her when I was home on leave these last few years. I’d make dinner for the two of us so she could get on with her schoolwork in a timely fashion as Marcus always tended to be late home – I suspect he went to the pub with his work colleagues after his shift finished, knowing that I was there for Charlotte.” She snorts, an endearing sound, Serena decides. “One time he came home really late, totally pissed, and he could smell the faint scent of the Qorma lingering in the air – and was really mad at me that there wasn’t any left since he now fancied some of my ‘foreign curry’, as he put it.”

Serena laughs disbelievingly. “Doesn’t he realise that all curry is foreign in origin? It’s not a native British dish.”

Bernie shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I just told him that he’d previously expressed a clear preference not to have to eat it, so I’d only made enough for me and Charlie.”

“He sounds like a right twat,” Serena says heatedly. “I’m glad that you’ve left him. He clearly doesn’t deserve you.”

Bernie clears her throat, then thanks her, sounding somewhat awkward. “What about you, are you a good cook?”

“I’m considered fairly good by Jason’s very exacting standards,” Serena says with a chuckle. “I’m assuming that you know that he has Asperger’s?”

“I do, yes. He told me that the very first time we met and talked. I was still not very mobile, and he took me from Darwin up to Physiotherapy and back in a wheelchair.”

“One of the aspects of his Asperger’s is that he is very particular not only about what food he eats, but also their tastes and textures. I’ve had to adjust a couple of the recipes which my mother taught me to suit his particular preferences. One of the things that I had to ensure before he went off to summer school was that his host family were prepared to cook his meals to his precise requirements. Fortunately, the family who agreed to host him have a grown up daughter with Autism and she has a similar sort of issue with food, so they were very understanding and accepting of his preferences.”

“That was something he mentioned to me, too,” Bernie says, finishing up the washing up. “I’ll have to pour this water away as it’ll be another forty minutes before I can move on to the next stage of meal prep and the water will go cold in the interim.”

“I’ll pour it out on the lawn,” Serena says. “Rather than waste it.”

“I can do that,” Bernie says. “If you don’t mind opening the door for me.”

Serena gets up and crosses the kitchen to open the back door, standing back for Bernie to pass her. She catches the scent of garlic and ginger overlaying a light floral scent as Bernie edges past her and she has to restrain herself from inhaling too deeply lest it seem weird that she’s basically sniffing her new housemate. Then she feels a flush of embarrassment at the realisation that she’d noticed how Bernie smells and found that scent pleasurable.

She crossed back to where the kettle sits on the counter and busies herself with making a pot of tea. “Cuppa?” she asks when Bernie carries the empty washing up bowl back inside and closes the back door.

“Yes please.” She directs a pleased smile at Serena, who can’t help smiling back.

They talk more over their cups of tea – this time discussing some of their more memorable patients and procedures. Bernie gets up to stir the chicken in marinade, then sits back down and continues recounting how she once performed a successful atriocaval shunt in Kabul.

“And the patient survived?” Serena asks, totally awed.

“He did. Got a letter from him a month later, thanking me.” 

“Wow. There’s only been what thirty atriocaval shunts performed worldwide?”

“Thirty two, now, and seven patients have survived.”

“Well, I’m very impressed, Major.” Serena squeezes Bernie’s arm, grinning at her, and gets a brief smile in response before the blonde gets to her feet.

“Time to get on,” she says.

“Are you sure I can’t help?” Serena asks, because it feels weird to sit here and watch Bernie doing all the work.

“No, thank you.”

Serena wanders over to wine rack. “What’s the best wine to serve with your Qorma?”

“Oh, I don’t drink wine with it. There’s a couple of bottles of Bhai cider in the door of the fridge.”

“Cider?” repeats Serena, a little shocked.

“Yeah. It works much better, I’ve found, than wine – although if you’d really prefer to have wine, I’d recommend an Australian Riesling.”

“I don’t have that here.” Serena sighs. “I should have asked you this morning.”

“There’s a bottle in the fridge,” Bernie says and when Serena stares at her in astonishment she sees the blonde’s cheeks go pink. “Your Jason might’ve mentioned that you love your wine, especially ‘Doctor Shiraz’.” She makes air quotes around the last two words, then smirks in the most devastating fashion.

“Clearly you think of everything,” Serena says. She’s not sure whether or not to be annoyed with Jason for revealing her peccadilloes, but Bernie doesn’t seem bothered. She is, in fact, an extremely easy going housemate, especially when compared to Jason. Not that she doesn’t adore her nephew and feel incredibly grateful to have him in her life now she’s lost her mother and Ellie is rarely home. 

“Oh, not everything,” Bernie says, “but I do tend to over-prepare if I have the luxury of time in which to prepare for things.” She gives Serena that little half smile that she’s coming to recognise is habitual with the blonde. 

“Well, I appreciate your thoughtfulness. You’ll have to tell me what I owe you.”

Bernie frowns at her. “You don’t owe me anything, Serena. Dinner tonight is on me as a thank you for taking me in, especially since you weren’t completely forewarned.”

Serena shakes her head, watching as Bernie adds half a cup of water to whatever’s in the casserole dish (she’s lost track while they’ve been talking), then a cup of what looks like yoghurt.

“I’m fairly sure that Jason did, in fact, forewarn me – because he is a very thorough young man. I suspect the problem stems from the fact that he told me when I was tired from work and had possibly been indulging with Doctor Shiraz.” 

“Ah.” Bernie doesn’t look up from stirring the contents of the casserole dish, but Serena can still see her devastating smirk. 

“Shush, you,” she says, reaching over to poke Bernie in the ribs.

“Oi, no violence towards the cook, or you’ll be on bread and water.”

Bernie’s full blown smile, which she turns on Serena now, is nearly as devastating as her smirk, and Serena is sure she can feel herself flushing. She’s glad that the blonde has most of her attention on her cooking otherwise Bernie might ask why she’s blushing.

“Could you turn the oven off for me, please,” Bernie says, moving over to the counter and adding some oil to the casserole dish she’d washed up earlier. 

“What’s in the oven?” Serena asks, confused.

“The challow rice.” 

“Challow?” Serena feels like an idiot for not knowing, but Bernie smiles at her and explains.

“It’s basically basmati rice with cardamom and cumin. It’s one of the most common accompaniments to the Qorma.” 

“I see. Do you want me to take it out?”

“No, thank you. It’s best to leave it to sit in the cooling oven for twenty to thirty minutes while the Qorma is simmering to its conclusion.”

“Okay.”

Serena decides she might as well lay the table and begins getting out the cutlery, crockery, and napkins while Bernie washes up again.

“I’m really glad that Jason invited you to stay,” she says once the table is prepared. “I’m not sure that I’ve made that clear yet.”

“Thank you,” Bernie says, then smiles and nods when Serena begins drying up the things that she is washing up. “I’m very glad, too.”

They sit down to eat within half an hour and Serena discovers that the Qorma Lowand and challow rice taste every bit as good as they’d smelled.

“This is really delicious,” she says, swallowing a mouthful.

“Thank you.” 

They don’t talk much while they’re eating, but Serena doesn’t mind – the radio’s on low in the background, Classic FM if she’s not mistaken – and their silence feels companionable rather than awkward. 

Afterwards, Serena insists on clearing the table and loading the dishwasher because she’s noticed that Bernie’s begun to look weary – there are harsh lines bracketing her mouth that makes her suspect the other woman is in quite a lot of pain.

When she finishes in the kitchen she finds Bernie in the sitting room, perched awkwardly on the edge of the sofa.

“Are you okay?” she asks, perching next to her and rubbing a hand across her shoulders.

“Back’s a bit achy,” the blonde says, her expression implying that she doesn’t like making such an admission.

“Painkillers?” she asks.

Bernie starts to shake her head, then stops with a hiss. “Too early,” she mutters.

“Would a back rub help?” 

Bernie turns to look at her, staring for what feels like an inordinately long time. “Probably,” she agrees.

“Why don’t we go upstairs?” suggests Serena.

“Aye, aye,” Bernie says, smirking yet again. Her eyes are dancing with mirth, too, and even though her tone and words make Serena blush, she tuts and rolls her eyes in good humour.

“None of that, Major,” she says in a firm tone. “I was just thinking about the fact that I often fall asleep if I’m given a massage and if you’re likely to do the same, you’ll be far more comfortable falling asleep in your bed than down here on the sofa.”

“Okay.” Bernie’s lips compress into a tight line, the thinner top lip almost disappearing from sight. “I – uh – I don’t think I can get up without help,” she says.

Serena gets to her feet, then holds out both hands to Bernie, who takes them, squeezes gently, then allows Serena to pull her upright.

They find themselves standing rather close and Serena finds her eyes flicking down to Bernie’s lips, thinking that it would be oh so easy to lean in and kiss the other woman. Then she blushes furiously, appalled at where her thoughts have gone. She leads the way out of the sitting room and upstairs without another word, feeling acutely aware of Bernie behind her.

She opens the door to the blonde’s room, then waits for Bernie to enter first intending to follow her in. Then she stops on the threshold. “I’ve got some aromatherapy oil,” she says. “Think that might help?”

“I don’t think it’ll hurt,” Bernie says, pulling back the duvet on her bed with slow, careful movements, before delving into her kitbag for a towel which she spreads out on top of the sheet.

“Back in a moment, then,” Serena says and heads into her own bedroom. She blows out a breath as she heads into her ensuite to find the bottle of Jasmine oil that she knows is lurking in the back of the bathroom cabinet – Robbie, her most recent ex, had been uninterested in using it to give Serena a massage. In fact, his idea of foreplay had consisted of a glass of wine, a couple of full-on kisses, and stripping off her clothes.

She sighs at the thought, then grabs the oil and carries it into Bernie’s room. She pauses on the threshold again, this time to swallow at the sight of the newly bared expanse of her housemate’s skin as she lies topless and prone on her bed, wearing only the grey trousers that Serena had seen her in that morning when they’d first met. There’s a white t-shirt folded neatly on the other pillow and she wonders if she’ll need to help Bernie to put on the t-shirt afterwards. She flushes, wondering why she’s getting so worked up at the thought of seeing Bernie in a state of undress, or half dressed, as she currently is.

She shakes her head, then moves into the room, pushing the door closed. “Are you warm enough?” she asks. It’s July, but it’s been a mostly dreary, miserable July so far, and she’ll admit to having turned on the central heating a couple of evenings to ward off the chill that threatened to settle through the house.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Okay.” Serena sets the bottle of oil down on the nightstand, then swallows before asking, “Are you okay with me kneeling over you to do this?”

“That’s fine,” Bernie says, her voice muffled in her pillow. “I warn you, I probably will fall asleep while you’re working.”

Serena chuckles. “That’s okay – I’ll just take it as a compliment if you do.”

“’kay.”

Serena rubs her hands together to make sure they’re warm enough to use the oil more effectively. Then she pours some into her hand and spreads it about a bit. “Let me know if I hurt you.”

“Mmhmm.”

Serena smiles, then begins carefully massaging Bernie’s back.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Bernie does fall asleep before Serena’s quite finished massaging her back and after dithering a little, she decides not to wake her up to pull on her t-shirt. Instead she carefully eases the towel out from beneath her torso, then draws the duvet up over her to keep her muscles from cooling and stiffening. She switches off the lamp on the nightstand, then turns out the main light as well before slipping through the bedroom door. 

She drops Bernie’s towel in the laundry hamper in the main bathroom, then goes to her own room to wash her hands in the ensuite and replace the bottle of oil in the cabinet. 

It’s still only eight thirty, which is too early for Serena to sleep given that she slept most of the day after working the night shift, so she heads back downstairs to the sitting room. 

She settles down with a glass of Shiraz and the latest copy of _The Lancet_ , intending to catch up with the articles that most interest her, but she finds herself distracted and struggling to focus. Instead, images of Bernie Wolfe’s bare back flicker through her mind, mixed with memories of the blonde’s smirking expression. She finds herself recalling the almost electrical surges that shot through her body when they’d bumped hips and elbows in the kitchen after having breakfast, and when their fingers had brushed as she’d taken Bernie’s kitbag from her. She remembers that she’d noticed the other woman’s hard nipples through that white vest she’d worn this morning and it’s with a jolt of surprise that Serena realises that she’s actually aroused, properly wet and wanting, her flesh throbbing with desire.

_Oh shit!_ she thinks, appalled. _I’ve got a bloody crush on Berenice bloody Wolfe. Fuck!_

She shivers at the last word, thinking about how much she’d like to climb into bed with Bernie right this minute.

“But I’m straight,” she mutters crossly, irritated by the fact that she’s considering sex with another woman. Then she recalls that Bernie had herself only come to the realisation that she’s not straight relatively recently – clearly it’s not too late for Serena to have such a revelation about her own sexuality.

The next six weeks, she decides, are going to be pure hell.


	2. Becoming Your Friend Was a Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie and Serena start to get to know each other; Serena comes to a significant realisation; and some missteps take place between them.

Serena wakes the next morning from dreams she barely remembers – apart from a pair of dark eyes peering intently at her – to the scent of bacon and coffee filtering through the house. It takes her a moment for her sleep-addled brain to register first that it’s unusual for Jason to have fried bacon for breakfast, and second that it’s not Jason who’s in her house right now. She groans, then lifts her head and bangs it against the pillow a couple of times. Berenice bloody Wolfe. That’s who’s cooking bacon and making coffee at – she squints at her phone – nine thirty in the morning, and that’s whose dark eyes she was dreaming about, she realises.

With another groan she hauls herself out of bed and into her ensuite to shower and generally prepare herself to face, if not the day, then her housemate. Normally she wouldn’t bother getting dressed yet, not on a day off with Jason out of the house, but she doesn’t quite feel prepared to face her housemate, for whom she’s developed an entirely absurd crush, in a state of undress. She unplugs her phone from the charger, then makes her way downstairs a little after 10am. She can hear the radio is on low again – Classic FM to judge from the cheery presenter’s voice she can hear – but the kitchen is empty. She frowns, then spots that the back door is propped ajar, and crosses the room to find her new housemate is sitting on one of the recliners wearing a t-shirt and cut-off denim shorts, a mug of coffee and a plate of bacon sandwiches on the patio table, and a cigarette in hand. Bernie has the recliner tilted back so that perforce her head is also tilted back, baring her long neck to view, and Serena finds herself swallowing hard at the sight.

“Smoking before eating, Major?” she asks, then regrets it when Bernie tries to leap up too quickly and falls to her hands and knees on the patio, her breath coming harshly.

Serena bites back curses as she steps out onto the patio and goes to help the blonde up. “I’m sorry,” she says contritely, grateful that Bernie’s doesn’t weigh too much. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She feels particularly bad about the fact that this is the second time she’s startled the other woman.

“It’s fine,” Bernie says in gruff tones. “I should’ve asked permission. Or waited until you were up.”

“Asked permission for what?” asks Serena, confused.

“To come out here. To smoke out here. To just help myself to breakfast.”

“Well, since I know for a fact that the bacon’s not mine, you don’t need my permission to cook yourself breakfast. And you definitely don’t need my permission to come out here.” She sighs as Bernie cautiously sits on the side of the recliner. “You don’t even need my permission to smoke out here, though I’d hope it goes without saying that I don’t want you to smoke indoors nor do I want to find cigarette butts littering the ground out here.”

“You won’t,” Bernie says, still gruff.

“Good.” Serena squeezes her shoulder. “Why don’t you eat your bacon butties before they get cold, and I’ll grab myself some coffee and something to eat, then I’ll join you. That is, if you’re up for company?”

Bernie chuckles softly. “I’m always up for your company, Serena,” she says, looking up at her through her fringe, and Serena feels a thrill of pleasure at the sound of her name on the blonde’s lips. She tamps it down, as best she can, and steps towards the kitchen door. 

“Oh, I forgot to say, Serena, there’s a couple of chocolate croissants warming in the oven if you fancy one for breakfast.”

“Bring me treats like that every morning and I might never let you move back out,” Serena retorts promptly, then ducks into the kitchen when she sees how wide Bernie’s eyes have gone, and how dark.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she mutters, crossing to the sink and running the tap to splash cold water on her face, which she’s sure must be bright red as a consequence of her extremely blatant flirting. She flirts with everyone, man or woman, all the time, but this is the first time she can recall flirting with a woman whom she very much fancies. She dries her hands, then pulls the baking tray from the oven and puts the two croissants onto a plate. She makes herself a large mug of coffee, then grabs a couple of napkins from the drawer, before carrying them, the plate, and her mug out onto the patio.

She’s slightly startled to see that Bernie has already demolished half her bacon butties, but refrains from commenting. She sets her plate down on the patio table, then sits on the side of the other recliner.

“I assume one of these is for you?” she asks, nodding at the croissants.

Bernie chews, swallows, then says, “Oh, um, no. I got them both for you.” Her voice is husky, rather than gruff, but her eyes are still dark, and Serena has to suppress a shiver of desire in response to this woman’s presence. 

“Thank you,” she says, and starts on the first one. 

They sit eating and drinking, listening to the birdsong in the garden, and the radio, which Serena had turned up while she was in the kitchen.

“Got any plans for today?” Bernie asks as she wipes her mouth with the napkin Serena brought her. “Or are you going to simply lie back and enjoy the good weather now it’s finally arrived?”

Serena chuckles. “I ought to do some work on the garden.”

“Mmhmm.”

Serena glances at her and finds Bernie staring across the garden with a slightly wistful look in her eyes. “Would you like to help?”

“Me? I don’t know anything about gardening, I’m afraid.”

“That’s okay,” Serena says. “I can tell you what needs doing, and you can tell me whether you think you can manage it, if your back is up to it, I mean.”

“Well, then, yes, if you promise to tell me if I’m messing things up. Or just send me indoors.”

“I’m sure neither of those things will be necessary, but I promise.”

The bright beaming smile that Serena gets in response makes her very glad to have asked for Bernie’s assistance – her smile is utterly gorgeous. 

_You’re in over your head_ , Serena tells herself as she carries their empty plates inside, Bernie following with their coffee mugs. 

They spend a pleasant day in the garden, breaking for a lunch of sandwiches and coffee around one o'clock. They stop for the day once Serena notices that Bernie's movements have become stiff and awkward.

“Why didn't you say something,” she fondly scolds the blonde.

Bernie shrugs one shoulder. “I don't want you to think I'm not prepared to pull my weight around here.”

“Bernie.” She stares at the trauma surgeon in disquiet. “Look, you're still recovering from serious injuries and significant surgery, and as such you need to take care not to overdo it.” She sighs. “I am very happy to have you here and you are not required to prove your right to stay. Okay?”

“Okay,” Bernie agrees with an easy smile.

Serena frowns at her. “Promise me that you will tell me in future when your back is hurting. Please?”

Bernie gazes at her for several moments before she sighs, then says, “I promise you, Serena.” Her tone is solemn and her expression serious, so Serena accepts her promise as genuine.

“Good. Now, why don't you go and take a long, hot soak in the bath, and I'll sort out dinner.”

“I think I'd like that, thank you.” Bernie smiles shyly.

“You go ahead, then,” Serena says. “I'll get everything packed away here.”

Bernie nods, then heads inside, and Serena watches her go, noting the slight limp and awkward gait. She shakes her head at the other woman's stubbornness and self-sacrificing attitude, which she supposes is normal for someone who's a member of the RAMC.

By the time she heads upstairs for a shower and a change of clothes she can hear music playing in the bathroom and it occurs to her that Bernie seems to prefer to have music playing in the background whatever she’s doing.

She doesn't linger in the shower, uncomfortably aware that she and Bernie are simultaneously naked, even if they are in separate bathrooms. She briskly towels herself dry, then pulls on a clean blouse and the pair of blue jeans that she wore the previous evening. Then she heads downstairs to make the Spaghetti Bolognese which she and Bernie had agreed to have for dinner when they’d discussed the matter at lunchtime.

When Bernie hasn't surfaced again and dinner is almost ready, Serena heads back upstairs to the main bathroom. She gives a quick one-two rap on the door, then calls Bernie's name.

“Are you alright in there?” she calls in concern.

“Oh, Serena, thank god you finally heard me.” Bernie sounds frantic and quite distressed, Serena realises. “I can't get out of the bath. My back's gone into spasm.”

“Did you lock the door?” Serena asks worriedly.

“No.”

“Okay. I'm coming in.”

She takes a deep breath, aware that she's about to see Bernie naked, but equally aware that now is not the time to worry about that. She opens the door and sees her new friend clinging to the edges of the bath, a grimace of pain twisting her mouth.

“Right then, let’s get you out of there,” Serena says in what she hopes is a brisk and above all, professional, tone. “I’m going to slide my arms under yours and lift. You wrap your arms around my neck.”

“Your blouse’ll get wet.”

“Bernie! Honestly, that is completely unimportant right now.” She stares at the blonde, who swallows, then gives an abbreviated nod. She steps to the bath, bends her knees, and slides her arms under Bernie’s as she carefully lifts her arms and wraps them around Serena’s neck. “Okay. One. Two. Three.” 

She feels Bernie struggling to push herself to her feet, her feet slipping a little on the wet marble of the bathtub, and her breath catches, worrying now that she might end up dragged into the tub as well. Then Bernie manages to lift herself and Serena keeps lifting, too, until she gets herself fully upright with Bernie’s torso plastered against her own, her blouse rapidly becoming sodden.

They remain standing, arms wrapped around each other and chests heaving from the effort, until Bernie shivers and Serena steps back a little bit, just enough to snag the bath sheet from the closed lid of the toilet. She gets it wound around Bernie, then helps her to step out of the bath onto the mat. 

“Right, better get you dried off and into some clothes,” Serena says. She does her best to avert her eyes without it being obvious because she doesn’t want Bernie to catch her staring, either at the scar that bisects her chest, relic of the heart surgery she endured, or at her breasts (which are smaller than Serena’s own), slim waist, and muscular thighs. She doesn’t just want to stare, either, she realises: she wants to touch all that soft skin, to run her hands over those powerful muscles – to wallow in appreciating the gorgeous body of the woman in front of her.

She helps Bernie into her bedroom, then persuades her to lie on her bed so that she can rub some Deep Heat into the blonde’s muscles. Bernie tells her there’s a tube of the stuff in the drawer of her nightstand, so she pulls it out, then peels off her sodden blouse, which is rather uncomfortable and distracting. She straddles Bernie’s thighs as she lies prone on the unwound bath sheet and forces her mind away from the fact that Bernie Wolfe is naked between her legs and that she is wearing only her bra, in order to concentrate on easing Bernie’s muscles.

“You realise this means I’m only going to let you help me with the gardening for at most a couple of hours at a time, don’t you?” Serena asks. “At least until your back’s more healed.”

Bernie sighs. “I do. I’m sorry, Serena.”

“Shush you,” she says, squeezing her shoulder briefly. “There are only two things I absolutely require you to do during the next six weeks.”

“Yes?”

“Keep attending your hospital appointments. And rest and heal up.”

“Technically, that’s three,” Bernie says with a chuckle that’s mostly muffled by her pillow.”

“Cheeky,” Serena says with another squeeze. She climbs off the bed. “Hopefully that Deep Heat will have loosened up your muscles enough for you to get dressed.”

“Thank you, Serena.” Bernie rolls onto her side, smiling sweetly at her, and it takes Serena a moment to remember that she’s only in her bra – in fact, it’s only when Bernie’s eyes widen that she recalls and blushes bright red as she realises she’s effectively staring at her naked house guest.

“Right, I’ll leave you to it. Need to wash my hands, find a dry blouse, and go and see if dinner can be rescued.”

She bolts – there’s no other word for it – from the room and it’s only when she’s pulling out a dry blouse to put on that she realises she’s left her sodden one on the floor of Bernie’s room. Well, it’ll just have to stay there until later – there’s no way she’s going to attempt to retrieve it while Bernie’s occupying the room and still getting dressed.

Once downstairs she manages to rescue the Bolognese sauce and when Bernie appears shortly afterwards, Serena dishes up the Spaghetti Bolognese, garlic bread, and salad.

“How are you feeling now?” she asks as they settle across the kitchen table from each other.

“Besides utterly foolish?” Bernie asks in a flippant tone. “Better, thank you. I’m sorry I was an idiot.”

“You weren’t,” Serena says immediately. “You’re not an idiot, but you do need to learn to speak up when you’re hurting. And maybe leave off having baths until you’re sure you can get in and out of it without your back going into spasm.”

Bernie chuckles weakly. “Yes, good point. I’ll take a shower from now on.” She eats a mouthful of food, then moans in a manner which almost makes Serena choke on her wine. “God, Serena, this is so good.”

“I’m glad that you like it.”

“By the way, I put your blouse in the laundry hamper as you’d left it on my floor.”

“Oh thanks. I realised I’d done that after I got to my room, but I didn’t want to disturb you to retrieve it while you were getting dressed.”

“You wouldn’t have disturbed me. I’m quite used to changing in front of other people from my Army days. I’ve never really been self conscious about my body – I’m quite used to the fact of being skinny and gangling as I’ve been that way since I was in my mid-teens.”

“Your muscles are very impressive,” Serena finds herself saying. “Do you work out a lot, in the normal course of things?”

Bernie chuckles. “No, not at all. The leg muscles are probably attributable to the fact I run a lot – my preferred form of exercise.” She frowns a little. “I like to go for a run first thing in the mornings, before the rest of the world’s really awake, it helps me to clear my head before the day properly begins.”

“And your arms?” Serena asks, slightly appalled that anyone could enjoy running for pleasure. 

That elicits another chuckle. “Those I have no excuse for.” 

They finish their meal in a companionable silence, then Serena sends Bernie to sit in the sitting room, refusing all offers of assistance at clearing up. “I can manage,” she says sternly. “Go and rest your back.”

“Yes ma’am.” Bernie salutes, making Serena roll her eyes, although as she clears the table and loads the dishwasher she can’t help wondering what Bernie would look like in uniform. Gorgeous, probably, because there’s no denying the fact that Serena Wendy Campbell, fifty one year old divorcee, finds Berenice Wolfe to be really gorgeous.

SC-BW-SC-BW-SC

While Serena has thoroughly enjoyed Bernie’s company during her two days off, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to a small amount of relief at returning to work again afterwards because her crush is threatening to become totally embarrassing before too much longer. She’d spent too much of the second day gazing at Bernie’s mouth as they talked, wondering if her lips were as soft as they looked, and wondering, too, what it would be like to kiss another woman, to feel the soft curve of breasts pressed against her own when they held each other, instead of the harder planes of a man’s chest. Bernie Wolfe is far too distracting, she decides, or rather she is far too distracted by Bernie Wolfe. 

Friday morning starts less than harmoniously. It’s the fifth day that Bernie’s shared Serena’s home and she gets up to the scent of coffee and bacon as usual, two croissants lurking in the oven also as usual. What’s not usual is the envelope with Serena’s name on it lying alongside her plate on the kitchen table.

“What’s this?” Serena asks, opening it. Then she stares when she sees several fifty pound notes inside. “What’s this?” she repeats in a sharper tone.

Bernie looks at her in obvious surprise. “My rent for this week and the next five weeks that Jason’s away. I’m sorry that I didn’t give it to you sooner, but Marcus was being an arse about the divorce and the joint account was frozen while my solicitor got things straightened out with his solicitor.”

“I can’t take this,” Serena says, shoving the banknotes back into the envelope.

“Sorry, would you prefer an electronic transfer? I can easily arrange that if you give me your bank account number and sort code.”

“No!” Serena snaps the word, then feels guilty when she sees how shocked Bernie is by her tone. “No,” she repeats more softly. “I am not taking rent from you.”

“Why not?” asks Bernie in obvious confusion. “If I’d found somewhere else to live I’d be paying rent there. It’s only fair that I pay rent here.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Of the two of us, I don’t think I’m the one who’s being ridiculous,” Bernie says quietly, her eyes showing that she’s hurt. “Excuse me, I have to get off to the hospital for my physio appointment.”

She disappears from the kitchen before Serena can properly formulate an apology or, indeed, an explanation for her refusal to take rent money from Bernie. It just feels wrong – Bernie’s quickly become a friend, and she wouldn’t expect a friend to pay rent even if they did stay for several weeks. She grimaces at the sight of the envelope, then concentrates on her coffee and croissants, although she doesn’t enjoy the latter as much as usual, owing to feeling at odds with Bernie.

She loads their mugs and plates into the dishwasher, then takes the envelope upstairs with her to return to Bernie. She discovers, however, that the other woman has already left the house, apparently slipping out without Serena realising. She sighs, then takes the money back downstairs to her study and locks it in the safe where she keeps all her most important documents. Then she gets her things together and heads out to her car. She has a quick stop to make on the way to Holby and she does her utmost to focus on that, and on AAU, and not on how bad she feels for hurting Bernie.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Serena heads straight to Pulses once she arrives at the hospital, only to discover it’s in chaos. She gathers, eventually, that a woman had entered the coffeeshop only to collapse to the floor moments later, unable to breathe properly. Whereupon ‘this amazing blonde woman’, according to Serena’s informant, leapt into action and performed an emergency tracheotomy with only a penknife and a biro from which she’d removed the ink cartridge.

“It was incredible!” exclaims Clarissa, one of the baristas. “I’ve never seen anything like it. And she was really pretty, as well as being fantastic in an emergency.”

“Who was she, do you know?” Serena suspects she can guess, however, and Clarissa immediately confirms her suspicions.

“I heard her tell the paramedics who came to take the patient to AAU that she was a trauma surgeon called Major Wolfe.”

Serena collects her coffee, then heads to AAU, fully expecting to find Major Wolfe there. She’s somewhat disappointed when she discovers no sign of the trauma surgeon, then Raf confirms that once she’d seen the patient, Mrs Severton, into their care, she’d disappeared again. 

“She said she had a physiotherapy appointment and didn’t want to be late,” Raf tells Serena. “It’s a pity we couldn’t keep her around.”

“Looking to replace me, Mr di Lucca?” Serena asks, her tone icy.

His eyes widen. “No! No, no. Not at all. That wasn’t what I meant, Serena. I–” 

“I’ll be in my office, should anyone need someone who’s not a trauma surgeon to assist them.” She goes in and bangs the door shut, then leans back against it. She knows she’ll have to apologise to Raf for biting his head off, but right now all she wants to do is forget all about Berenice bloody Wolfe and get on with her work.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She cannot, of course, forget Bernie – not least because she and Raf have to take care of Mrs Severton, swapping out the biro the trauma surgeon had used for a proper tracheostomy tube. 

“Did she at least sterilise the biro before she used it, do we know?” Serena asks, her voice slightly muffled by her mask as she bends over the patient’s neck.

“She said she did. She carries a bottle of hand sanitiser around with her – apparently as a consequence of never knowing when she’d need some in the field.” Raf sounds awed, Serena thinks, and curls her lip behind her mask. It’s not that she doesn’t think Bernie is worthy of awe – her prompt actions earlier this morning had definitely saved their patient’s life – but she is not in the mood to listen to gushing praise for the blonde.

“I was there when she was brought into the hospital, you know. Major Wolfe, I mean.”

This quiet comment of Raf’s catches Serena’s attention. “Really?”

“Yeah. Turned out I wasn’t needed as she was stable enough.” Raf snorts, which makes Serena look up, one eyebrow raised interrogatively. “I heard from Dr March that Guy Self and Oliver Valentine had a bit of a dick measuring contest over who was going to treat the Major first because she had a pseudoaneurysm and an unstable C5/C6 neck fracture from an IED. Apparently, the Major wouldn’t stand for it and ordered them to work together to carry out both surgeries. Told them it was her ‘bread and butter’.”

“That can’t have gone down well with the mighty Mr Self.”

Raf chuckles. “Not according to what Mr Valentine told Dr March. They did it, though. Had a bit of a tricky moment when the pseudoaneurysm burst and Mr Valentine had to manually restart her heart on the table, but they brought her through.”

Serena feels her whole body freeze for a long moment at Raf’s words, as she recalls what Bernie had told her. The idea that Bernie might’ve died without them ever meeting is, frankly, appalling, and just like that her unreasonable anger melts away and she knows she needs to not only apologise to Bernie, but to make it up to her for her awful behaviour this morning.

She just hopes that she’s not too late – that Bernie won’t get back from her physio appointment and decide to move out before Serena gets home. It’s not as if it would take her long to pack, after all, given how little she’d brought with her when she moved in.

As soon as they’re finished in theatre and Serena can get back to her office she grabs her phone and sends Bernie a text, grateful that they’d already exchanged mobile numbers.

_I’m sorry that I was completely unreasonable this morning. Please forgive me._

She makes herself put her phone down and focus on the stack of paperwork on her desk so that she won’t be anxiously waiting for Bernie’s response. (She will, of course, be anxiously waiting, but she hopes to be productive while she’s waiting.)

It’s nearly midday before she gets a reply, just two words: _It’s fine._ Almost immediately, though, her phone pings as a second message comes through: _How’s Mrs Severton?_

Serena smiles as she types a response: _Doing well thanks to you. Your intervention saved her life. Raf and I put in a proper tracheostomy tube earlier._

_Glad I was in the right place at the right time._

Serena’s just wondering whether to invite Bernie to join her for lunch when another message comes through: _Got to go. Solicitor._

She responds with a _Good luck._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Serena’s still working through her stack of paperwork, which she swears is secretly multiplying every time she looks away from it, when there’s a timid knock on her half open door and she looks up to see Bernie standing on the other side. She gets to her feet with alacrity and pulls open the door. 

“Bernie. It’s good to see you,” she says, far too enthusiastically she realises when the blonde raises her eyebrows at her. “What can I do for you?”

“I came to see Mrs Severton.” She gestures with the small bouquet of flowers in her hand. 

“Oh good. She was asking if we knew who the wonderful woman was who’d saved her life. And that’s a direct quote.”

To Serena’s surprise Bernie blushes, the apples of her cheeks going pastel pink as she ducks her head and murmurs, “It was nothing.”

Serena shakes her head. “Well, clearly that’s not true since you did, in fact, save her life. If she’d had to wait until someone from either the ED or AAU got to her, it’s very likely she’d be in the morgue right now instead of in one of the beds here.”

Serena bumps her shoulder against Bernie’s. “Come on, let’s go and see the woman in question. 

Bernie follows Serena across the ward to where an attractive woman in her late thirties is lying in bed, her phone in her hand. She looks up as the two surgeons approach and her face lights up at the sight of Bernie.

“Mrs Severton, allow me to properly introduce you to Major Berenice Wolfe, trauma surgeon with the RAMC. Bernie, this is Mrs Severton.”

“Janice,” says the patient, stretching out a hand, which Bernie takes, and Janice shakes. Serena tries not to feel sour when Janice wraps both hands around Bernie’s, but she does feel grateful when Bernie quickly extracts her hand and passes the bouquet of flowers to her right hand before holding it out.

“Oh Major, thank you so much. They’re lovely.”

Serena manages not to roll her eyes, but it’s not easy when Janice begins to gush her thanks. “I’ll leave you to it,” she says, ignoring the look of alarm lurking in Bernie’s eyes when they meet her own.

She walks off, but not before she hears Janice telling Bernie to have a seat. She is, she realises with embarrassment, jealous of Janice. She wants to point out that she saw Bernie first and to insist on ‘finder’s keeper’s’, which is completely absurd, she knows. Bernie’s her own person, not an object, and just because Serena’s attracted to her doesn’t mean she reciprocates. For all she knows Serena isn’t even Bernie’s type. 

She sighs heavily as she enters her office and goes to sit at her desk, leaning her elbows on the top and resting her face in her hands. Her jealousy is ridiculous, and she is being a pathetic old fool, frankly. Why would anyone as gorgeous as Bernie Wolfe want to be with her.

She startles when her door opens and looks up, intending to rip shreds off whoever’s interrupted her, only to see it’s Bernie. She feels a blush starting at her chest and hopes that her favourite leopard print blouse will hide it from Bernie until the other woman leaves.

“I’m sorry,” the blonde says, sounding quite diffident as well as apologetic. “I did knock. Twice in fact. But you didn’t answer, and I was a bit concerned – thought you might’ve got some bad news from the way you were sitting with your head in your hands.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Well, a bit too warm, if I’m honest, but come in, Bernie. What can I do for you?”

“Menopause?” Bernie asks, her tone and expression expressing sympathy and understanding.

“Yes.” Serena sighs. “Have you–” She cuts herself off, deciding it’s really none of her business.

“Oh, well, I think I’m over the worst of it now. I started early – as did my mother and apparently my maternal grandmother, too.”

“It’s alright for some,” Serena says grumpily, the words slipping out before she can stop herself. She sees Bernie’s expression go stricken for a moment before it becomes neutral.

“I think I’d better get going and leave you to it,” the blonde says. “I’ll see you later.” She’s slipped through the door before Serena can even respond and she seriously considers simply banging her head on her desk. She growls wordlessly, then delves into her handbag for her little handheld fan and switches it on as she feels like she might just overheat and spontaneously combust otherwise.

“You alright?” asks a voice a moment later, and Serena looks up at Raf, then shakes her head.

“Overheating,” she says simply. 

He winces, his expression sympathetic. “Want me to nip down to Pulses and get you something cold to drink?”

“Oh, would you? That would be wonderful.” She pulls her purse from her handbag and gives him a five pound note. “A fiver ought to be enough, don’t you think?”

Raf chuckles. “More than enough. Want me to pick up a pastry as well?”

“I doubt they’ll have any left, this time of the afternoon. But I wouldn’t say no to a giant chocolate chip cookie if they’ve got any of those left.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Oh, by the way, I came in to tell you that Mrs Severton thinks Major Wolfe is, and I quote, ‘the sweetest, most wonderful woman’ she’s ever met. I think she’s smitten.”

Serena snorts. “I think you might be right. I noticed that the Major didn’t stay long.”

“No, she had an appointment to get to,” Raf says. “With her solicitor, according to Janice.”

Serena almost tells Raf that can’t be true because Bernie was at her solicitor’s earlier, but she doesn’t. She’s not entirely sure that she wants Raf to know how she knows that, or if she wants him to know that Bernie is currently living with her. Besides, Bernie might’ve been on a break from her meetings with her solicitor when she came in to see Janice Severton. Instead she nods and he goes off to find her a form of liquid relief for her woes, or a part of her woes, at least.

She stares unseeingly at her computer screen as it occurs to her that she needs to get her head on straight before she sees Bernie again later – today has contained too many missteps between them, and all of them are Serena’s fault. She resolves to try to find a way to make things up to the trauma surgeon – it’s Bernie’s turn to cook tonight (at the beginning of the week they had settled on taking it in turns as the fairest division of the labour), so maybe she can take her out to dinner tomorrow night.

She struggles through the rest of her shift, aided somewhat by both the bottle of ice cold water and the large chocolate chip cookie that Raf had brought her from Pulses, and by the decision to act like Bernie is no more than a casual acquaintance.


	3. But Falling in Love With You Was Beyond my Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serena and Bernie recover from their misunderstandings; Serena persuades Bernie to join her on a Spa Day and things finally come to a head between.

When Serena arrives home the house is quiet – no sound of the radio or one of Bernie’s playlists on her phone enlivening the silence. She frowns, then decides that the blonde must be at her solicitor’s still. She leaves her shoes in the hall, then heads upstairs to her room, intending to have a shower.

She spends some time standing under the cold water, relishing in the wonderful sensation of being cool, then she turns the heat up and scrubs herself thoroughly. Once she’s patted herself dry she dresses in her coolest clothing, then heads downstairs. There’s still no sign of Bernie and she wonders if she should worry about the blonde’s absence: it’s true she’s a grown woman and nothing more than Serena’s nominal tenant, but it’s disquieting that she’s not here, not least because Serena needs to talk to her.

She pours herself some ice cold water from the fridge, then settles in the sitting room with the latest issue of _The Lancet_ to read and waits for Bernie to return.

It’s almost six o’clock and Serena’s starting to feel alarmed when she hears the front door open and close, then the slight thump of shoes hitting the floor. She forces herself to remain seated and to appear indifferent to Bernie’s earlier absence when the blonde peers around the doorframe at her.

“Hi,” she says quietly, looking at Serena through her ridiculously overlong fringe.

“Evening,” Serena says. She refrains from commenting on how late it is, but her stomach betrays her by gurgling loudly.

“Sorry,” Bernie says. “Give me a few minutes and dinner will be ready.” She disappears again before Serena can even open her mouth to respond. Feeling nettled, she switches on the television for the six o’clock news and resolutely ignores the clattering from the kitchen, even going so far as to turn up the volume a little in order to drown out the noises.

It’s a little over twenty minutes after she walked in the front door that Bernie appears back in the sitting room doorway and shyly asks, “Do you want to come through?”

Serena sets her copy of _The Lancet_ back on the coffee table and grabs her almost empty glass of water from the table, then crosses the sitting room and follows the trauma surgeon into the kitchen, which is bare of any sort of food, nor can she smell anything cooking.

“What–?” she starts to ask, before realising that Bernie is disappearing through the back door into the garden. She leaves her glass on the counter by the kitchen sink, feeling her ire rising, and stalks across to the door which the blonde’s left ajar.

She steps out onto the patio and feels her anger melt at the sight before her. The patio table is laid with a crisp white tablecloth, and the table is laden with food. There’s also a pitcher of something that Bernie tells her is called Dogwood Punch, which is made with a bottle of rosé wine, a bottle of strawberry lemonade, some grenadine, several sliced fresh strawberries, and a sliced lemon, all topped with mint sprigs. When she steps closer to the table Serena can see a bowl of pasta, a platter of meats and cheeses, a quiche sliced into half a dozen pieces, a bowl of salad with Santini tomatoes adorning it, and a bread board holding thick slices of crusty bread. There’s also a fruit platter, a fruit tart topped with kiwi fruit and raspberries (among other things), and the most sinfully delicious looking chocolate cake arrayed at the far side of the table.

Serena becomes aware of soft classical music playing at about the same time she realises that Bernie is watching her with an incredibly intense expression. 

“Is it – is it okay?” she asks softly.

“Oh Bernie, it’s amazing. You really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

The trauma surgeon gives her a shy smile. “I didn’t go to that much trouble,” she says. “I only had to make up the punch. The food came from M&S.” She blushes. “I’m not that good a cook when it comes to baking, so I was just going to get the cake, fruit tart, and quiche from them, but then I saw the rest of the picnic foods, and thought it would be nicer to have a full selection.” She pulls out one of the chairs and Serena smirks, then sits down. Bernie hands her a plate, with cutlery wrapped in a clean napkin balanced on the top, then asks, “Punch?”

“Yes, please.” 

“You were so clearly distressed by the heat when I saw you on the ward today that I decided it might be nicer to eat out here, and then I thought that a picnic would be nicer still.”

“Well, this is all lovely and you’re a very sweet woman to do this for me.”

Bernie shrugs a shoulder before passing her the glass of punch. “Seemed to me that you deserved a bit of pampering.”

“I think this counts as more than a bit,” Serena says with a laugh and begins arranging food on her plate. She starts with a piece of the Quiche Lorraine, then adds some of the pasta salad which Bernie tells her contains red pepper and sundried tomato, before she also spoons some of the salad onto her plate. Afterwards she has a couple of the slices of bread, generously buttered, then topped with slices of meat and cheese from what Bernie says is M&S’s traditional Italian smoked meats and cheese platter. A brief exploration reveals that this consists of prosciutto, salami and Scamorza cheese, and she layers one slice of bread with the cheese and salami and the other slice with cheese and prosciutto. 

“It’s a good job I’m hungry,” Serena notes.

“Me too,” Bernie says. “The physiotherapist really put me through my paces this morning and I only managed to grab a coffee and pastry for my lunch before I met with my solicitor.” She sighs heavily and Serena can’t help reaching out to touch her arm.

“Is Marcus giving you a very hard time?” she asks softly.

Bernie swallows a mouthful of food, then says, “He’s turned Cam and Charlie against me. They’ve written letters on his behalf vilifying me. I know I’m no Maria von Trapp, but I don’t think I was a terrible mother. I spent more time with them than with Marcus when I came home on leave – twice I took them on holiday without him because he had to attend some conference or other ‘for the sake of his career’, always said with a sneer because obviously his career was more important than mine.” 

Serena watches as she reaches for her glass of punch and swallows a gulp of it down.

“He hated going to any of the formal military events I attended because I was the one in uniform, not him. He always insisted I wear civvies to the fundraisers at St James’ that I happened to be at home for – he didn’t want anyone to be reminded that I had my own very successful career as a surgeon, and he especially didn’t want anyone remembering that I’m a – well, not to blow my own trumpet – but world-renowned trauma surgeon. If anyone greeted me as ‘Major Wolfe’ he’d stand there grinding his teeth or stalk off to the bar.” She snorts. “I don’t think he ever realised that he made himself look like a boor for behaving in that way. And I never told him that more than one donor gave me a cheque for the RAMC instead of giving him one for St James’.”

“I’m sorry you were so miserable with him.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to realise that I didn’t have to remain with him, feeling miserable and uncomfortable because I couldn’t fit into his model of a suburban wife.” 

She scowls before gathering another forkful of food, and Serena eats some more of her own food, waiting patiently because she senses there’s something more that Bernie wants to say. 

“Marcus knew, before we got married, that I was joining the RAMC as soon as I completed my degree. We were friends for a long time before we fell into a sexual relationship.” Bernie fidgets with her glass of punch. “It’s pathetic, isn’t it, that I’ve been in precisely two intimate relationships?”

“Not necessarily,” Serena says, reaching out to clasp Bernie’s fidgety fingers. “I imagine that you were very focused on your studies as a teenager and a young adult.”

“Yes. I didn’t even plan on getting married. Thought I’d end up married to my job. I’m sure you know, as well as I do, how much of a fight it’s been to be taken seriously as a surgeon who’s a woman.” Serena nods. “And, of course, it’s been an even bigger fight to be taken seriously as a woman surgeon in the RAMC. When I started out I never dared imagine that I’d end up as a Major.”

“You must have worked hard to achieve all that you have,” Serena says, squeezing Bernie’s hand, which she’s still holding.

Bernie snorts. “I worked really bloody hard,” she says. “I’ve sweat blood and tears for them. I used to think my kids were proud of what I’d done. When Cam applied to medical school he told me before he told his father and he said I was the reason why he wanted to be a doctor. He told me that he thought being an orthopaedic surgeon was less interesting than being a trauma surgeon. He never dared admit that to Marcus, of course – he’d have been mortally insulted.”

Serena releases her hand to reach for her own glass of punch, allowing Bernie to finish the food on her plate before she begins spreading butter on some of the slices of bread. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bend your ear about this.” She looks sideways at Serena, who smiles at her.

“It’s quite alright, Bernie. I don’t mind having my ear bent if it helps you to vent.”

Bernie gives her a smile that’s not quite there, then asks, “Are you feeling any better?” She sounds cautious and Serena can hardly blame her for that caution.

“Much, thank you. It helped to have a shower when I came home, and to sit on the sofa with a glass of ice cold water and the knowledge that I could drink it in peace.”

“I’m glad.” 

“Bernie, I’m sorry that I’ve been like a bear with a sore head today. You didn’t deserve it. I’m particularly sorry that I was so ungracious about you paying me rent.”

“It’s fine,” Bernie says quickly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Serena swallows some of her punch. “I was cross about it because I don’t expect my friends to pay rent when they come to stay and I know we’ve only known each other for five days, but I already consider you a friend.”

“So offering you rent seemed like an insult?” Bernie says. “Or like I didn’t consider you to be a friend?”

Serena nods. “A bit of both, if I’m honest. And I know that it was stupid of me given you didn’t know how I felt. And we’d never discussed the possibility of you paying me rent, so it didn’t cross my mind that you’d feel that you should.”

Bernie shrugs a shoulder. “I consider you to be a friend, too,” she says softly. “But I don’t feel that should preclude me paying rent. As I said this morning if I was living anywhere else I’d have to.”

“I understand.”

“Look, if you won’t accept it as rent, why don’t you split it in half and keep it for Jason and Elinor? Students are always in need of money, and I know Jason’s not decided yet if he wants to enter higher education, but the money’s there for him if he does. And if he doesn’t, if he decides to continue working as a porter at Holby General, well he can always use it for one of his hobbies. I know he likes to watch a lot of documentaries and that he buys them on DVD, and from what he’s said he also reads and buys quite a lot of non-fiction books, so he could always use it for that if he wants to.”

“Okay.” Serena smiles at her and gets a proper smile back from Bernie. “I also owe you an apology for snarling at you when we were talking about going through the menopause.”

Bernie shakes her head. “It’s fine, Serena. Honestly.”

“I disagree. I had no right to behave as I did.”

The blonde snorts. “You didn’t see me, three years ago. I was so utterly miserable: night sweats, insomnia, hot flushes, irritability, mood swings, difficulty concentrating. A couple of times I had to actually take some time off work because I wasn’t fit to carry out surgery. The second time I saw the camp’s doctor and she prescribed HRT. It made a huge difference and I got through it a lot more easily as a result. Of course, HRT doesn’t work for everyone, but it might be worth asking your GP about it?”

“My friend Fleur, who works on Obs and Gynae, she suggested the same thing. I brushed her off, but maybe that was premature of me.”

“It surely can’t hurt to discuss it,” Bernie says.

“No, you’re right. I’ll phone my GP on Monday and book an appointment.”

Bernie smiles, looking pleased, and Serena smiles back. 

“Would you mind cutting me some of that rather delicious looking tart, please?” she asks.

“My pleasure.”

They eat in a silence that’s companionable and restful, both enjoying the cooler evening air as well as the good food, the very nice punch, and the good company.

Eventually they both admit that they can eat no more, and Bernie helps Serena to carry everything back inside, the pair working together to get everything stored safely in the fridge and the pantry. 

“It’s a shame Jason’s not here,” Serena observes. “It’s going to take a couple more days to finish eating that lot.”

“At least you won’t have to worry about what to make for dinner tomorrow,” Bernie says.

“Actually, I was going to invite you out for dinner tomorrow,” Serena says, then wonders if she’s made a mistake when the blonde’s eyes go wide.

“For a date?” she asks, sounding a bit nervous.

“No, just by way of apology for today.”

Bernie shakes her head. “That isn’t necessary, Serena. You apologised and I accepted your apology. As far as I’m concerned that’s the end of the matter.”

Serena feels herself deflate a bit at this. “Okay.” She finishes putting things into the dishwasher, then sets it going. “Tea?”

Bernie shakes her head again. “I’ll just have a glass of water, I think.”

“Very well.” Serena gets out a clean glass and fills it with ice cold water from the fridge, holding it out to Bernie. She wonders if she’s imagining the blonde’s momentary hesitation before she accepts the glass. 

She takes the glass, then heads back outside, and Serena puts the kettle on to make herself a cup of tea. Normally she’d have a coffee but it’s a little too late in the evening now since they lingered over their meal.

She can’t help wondering whether to confess to Bernie how she feels about her, but it doesn’t seem like the right time, and if she says something and Bernie doesn’t feel the same way then she risks ruining their brand new friendship, a friendship that seems incredibly precious right now. She has few peers who are also surgeons and who understand the incredible battle that women surgeons have to fight in order to succeed in what’s still a very male dominated area. 

She sighs, makes herself a mug of tea, then goes back outside to join Bernie in the cool garden. She’ll just have to keep her feelings to herself at least until she can get some idea of whether they’re reciprocated or not.

SC-BW-SC-BW-SC

It’s the weekend of the third week that Bernie’s been staying with Serena that she discovers that Bernie feels the same way about her. They’ve both had a somewhat stressful week: work’s been manic for Serena, and Marcus is being even more of a pain in the ass towards Bernie with regard to the divorce, so when Serena sees a special offer for a half price day session at the local spa that weekend she suggests to Bernie that they book in. 

“I’m not sure,” Bernie says quietly. 

It’s Thursday evening and they’re lounging on the recliners in the back garden after another of their picnic suppers (though this one featured a rather smaller selection of foods by mutual agreement since it had taken them four days, in total, to eat everything Bernie had bought last time).

“Why not?” Serena asks curiously. “At the very least a massage would be good for your back.”

“Well, that’s just it,” Bernie says. She stares across the garden, almost as if she’s refusing to make eye contact with her friend, which Serena finds strange. “I’m very particular about who puts their hands on me.”

“But you’ve let me give you a massage several times in the last three weeks.”

“Yes,” Bernie says softly. “I don’t mind your hands on me.”

Serena blushes, then wonders if she’s reading too much into this response. “Okay, well you don’t have to have a massage. There’s a sauna, a steam room, an indoor swimming pool, and a gym. You can have a facial, a pedicure, a manicure, or a body scrub. If we booked a full day we’d get a cream tea, a complimentary glass of Prosecco, a choice of two treatments, and use of the pool, sauna, gym, and steam room.”

“You really want to do this, don’t you?” Bernie asks, finally turning her head to look at Serena.

“I do. I can go alone. I’ve gone alone before. But I thought it’d be more fun if we went together, particularly given that we’ve both had a rough week.”

“Okay,” Bernie says.

“Really?”

“Really. I can always have a manicure and a pedicure or something. That’d require the minimum hands-on experience. And use of the swimming pool and steam room would be good. I’ve been going swimming at the local pool a couple of times a week to help to increase my stamina since I’m not yet fit enough to start running.”

“Good.” Serena swings her feet around in order to sit up, then leans across the gap between their recliners and presses a kiss to Bernie’s cheek before heading inside to grab her laptop and make the booking. It’s not until she’s in her study, collecting her laptop, that she suddenly realises just what she did just now. She swallows hard, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the consciousness that she’s just kissed Bernie Wolfe. Admittedly it was only a peck on the cheek, but still. She wonders what Bernie thinks, if she’s ruined everything between them by such a fleeting and chaste gesture. She sighs, puts her shoulders back, stiffens her spine, and goes back to the garden.

Bernie is where she left her, thankfully – Serena couldn’t help having visions of the blonde bolting either upstairs or out of the house. Her eyes are closed, and her head is resting back, exposing her throat; she’s blushing faintly, and Serena finds the pastel pink on the apple of her cheeks very appealing. 

She deliberately bumps the patio table when she sets down her laptop so that Bernie knows she’s there. 

“We have to pre-book our treatments,” she observes. “I think I might go for the back, neck and shoulder massage, and a pedicure.”

She taps away at the keyboard, watching Bernie from the corner of her eye. “You’re definitely going for the manicure and pedicure?” she asks.

“Yes.” Bernie’s voice has gone low and husky, the sound doing things to Serena that she will have to deal with later, once she’s tucked up in bed.

“Okay. Seems we can arrive from 10am. They provide complimentary robes, towels, and flipflops. We can have lunch there, but it’ll cost us extra.”

“Okay.” 

Serena silently breathes a sigh of relief when she sees that Bernie has properly relaxed against her recliner again. She continues tapping away at her keyboard before hitting the pay button with a flourish. 

“There, all booked.” She looks over at the trauma surgeon who turns her head and regards her with a steady gaze that sends an embarrassing amount of heat through her body.

“Thanks for agreeing to come with me,” Serena says at last. 

“You’re welcome. Thanks for not taking no for an answer.”

“Well, you’re even more welcome.”

They go back indoors soon after that, Bernie heading straight up to her room, while Serena potters around making sure everything’s locked up and all the lights are out. Then she heads upstairs herself. She takes a quick shower, then slides naked into bed – she’s decided that she’ll get dressed after her ‘Me time’. 

SC-BW-SC-BW-SC

Saturday rolls around and for once Serena’s up almost as early as Bernie, both of them tucking into a pain au chocolat and a mug of strong, hot coffee, then Serena drives them out of the centre of Holby and into the surrounding countryside. The Hampton Spa is about five miles away and they make a point to leave in plenty of time in case of traffic holdups along the way. For once, however, they encounter no issues with the traffic so they reach the spa with half an hour to spare, and after a short discussion they decide to sit in the car and listen to the radio before it’s time to sign in. 

Once they’ve signed in, they’re led to the changing area where they change out of their day clothes – loose fitting trousers and tops, as advised by the spa when Serena booked their day – and change into their swimwear and the very fluffy robes that are provided. They also ditch their shoes for flipflops before being given a drink – they both pick a green smoothie – then they’re led on a tour of the facilities. Bernie’s eyes light up at the sight of the swimming pool, then again at the steam room, and Serena hopes that her friend will enjoy the day after all.

After the tour they split up, Bernie heading for her manicure treatment while Serena goes for her massage. She can’t help wishing that Bernie is with her, but she knows it was better not to force the issue. She doesn’t know why the blonde is so particular about who puts their hands on her – if it’s an Army thing, a lesbian thing, or just that she isn’t very tactile. It might even be a bit of all three, she supposes, but she’s not going to ask.

Serena barely refrains from falling asleep during her massage and she is feeling incredibly relaxed once she meets up with Bernie.

“I might have to come back here just for the massage alone,” she tells the trauma surgeon once they’re heading into the swimming pool.

“Maybe – uh – maybe I could give you a massage once my back’s fully healed,” Bernie says, sounding shy and unsure. 

“I’d like that, thank you,” Serena says. She would like it, she’s just not sure it’s a good idea. 

They move into another changing room and pull off their robes to leave them in a locker and Serena can’t help the little choked sound that escapes her at the sight of Berenice Wolfe looking lithe and positively delicious in a blue one piece swimsuit. It’s cut high up on the leg, showing off those impressively long legs of hers and her powerful thighs. It also shows off her strong shoulders and arms, and Serena can’t stop herself from wondering what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bernie’s arms.

“Are you okay?” Bernie asks worriedly.

Serena nods, momentarily speechless, then manages to find her tongue. “You’re not that much taller than me so why do your legs go on forever?”

Bernie chuckles. “I’ve no idea. I’m sorry.”

Serena rolls her eyes, then shakes her head. “Come on.”

They accept a towel each from the pool attendant, handing over their locker key for safekeeping, then move through to the actual pool itself. 

“I hope it’s heated,” Serena says. “I don’t fancy a plunge into ice cold water after my massage.”

“It is heated,” Bernie tells her. “I checked. Swimming in cold water wouldn’t do my back any good – too much chance of the muscles going into spasm.”

“Ah. Good.” They leave their towels on a lounger with the same number as their locker, then move over to the steps. 

“I’m assuming you don’t want to dive in,” Bernie asks.

“Not likely. Unlike some people, I’m not that athletic.”

She gets a shy smile in response. “You’re perfect as you are.”

That makes Serena blush and she moves ahead of Bernie to hide the fact, not wanting her friend to wonder just why she’s blushing.

They spend an hour in the pool area. Serena swims a couple of lengths, to keep Bernie company, but it soon becomes obvious that her friend’s holding back for her sake, so she says she’ll go and lounge until Bernie’s ready to head to the steam room. 

She watches those powerful arms and legs ploughing a course up and down the pool for half an hour until Bernie climbs out of the water, her blonde hair sleeked to her head. Serena passes over her towel and Bernie roughly dries herself off, including her feet, and she has to keep her head up in order not to stare at either her breasts or the scar that bisects her chest from the life-saving surgery she underwent a few weeks ago.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

By the end of the day Serena’s feeling almost boneless with relaxation and she happily acquiesces to Bernie driving them back home. The afternoon tea had been exquisite, and Serena had been forced to restrain herself not to eat too many scones or sandwiches because it had all been so delicious.

“I think I’d like to do that all over again,” she tells Bernie as she parks the car on the drive.

“It was more enjoyable than I anticipated,” Bernie admits as she follows Serena into the house. “Thank you for persuading me to go with you.”

“Any time.” They hang up their coats and slip out of their shoes, then head upstairs to change. “Would you like me to give you a massage?” Serena asks as they reach the landing. “Since you didn’t have one at The Hampton?”

“I – uh – I’d like that, if it’s not too much trouble.” Bernie’s gone shy again, Serena notes with an inward smile. 

“Come on, then, let’s do that before anything else.”

Serena goes to her ensuite to grab the bottle of Jasmine oil and when she knocks on Bernie’s half open door, she sees that the blonde has already stripped off as far as her grey boxers and is lying face down on a towel.

“Come in, Serena.”

She moves into the room and toes off her slippers, then climbs up onto the bed to straddle Bernie’s hips, the procedure automatic now that they’ve done this so often. She rubs her hands together to warm them up, then pours some oil into her right hand before beginning to massage Bernie’s upper back and shoulders. 

They chat for a little while about the spa as Serena works, and she notices that heat is building rapidly between her thighs. She wants to bend forward and press a kiss to the nape of Bernie’s neck, to nuzzle her nose into the crook of that neck, licking and perhaps biting at the delicate skin there. She wants Bernie to roll over beneath her, then pull her down for a searing kiss before she slides her fingers into the warmth and heat she feels sure she’ll find between the blonde’s thighs.

She mentally reins in her out of control imagination and focuses her attention back on the woman who’s become one of her dearest friends. Then she asks the question that’s been bugging her since she first spotted them:

“Why do you wear boxer shorts?”

To her surprise Bernie chuckles in response to this intrusive question, then shifts beneath her until she’s lying on her back, looking up at Serena.

“How long have you been dying to ask me that?”

“Since the first time I saw them,” she admits. “Sorry.”

“No apology needed. I find them more comfortable than women’s knickers, particularly under fatigues.”

“I’d like to see you in your fatigues, some time.”

“Mmhmm. I rather thought you might.”

Serena frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not blind, Ms Campbell. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me these last three weeks.”

Serena feels the heat of her embarrassment throughout her body and she starts to move off the bed, but Bernie clasps her hips and gently holds her in place. 

“I didn’t say I minded, Serena,” she says, her voice gone low and husky. “Very much the opposite.”

Serena clears her throat. “You – you don’t mind?”

Bernie shakes her head. “I’ve been itching to kiss you since the minute you walked into your kitchen, exhausted and indignant at the stranger who’d dared to foist herself upon you without warning or permission.”

She sits up, then asks, “May I?”

Serena can only nod mutely before Bernie cups her cheek in her right hand and brings their faces closer together, and then that mouth is upon her own, gloriously hot and powerful, but not overpowering. Kissing her as if she’ll die without Serena’s kisses. 

Bernie’s hand slides to the back of her neck even as her left arm wraps around Serena’s torso and draws her down so that she’s lying on top of the blonde.

“I want to touch you,” Bernie says, her left hand sliding down to the small of Serena’s back. “May I?”

“Yes. Oh yes, please.”

Bernie hums against her lips as she untucks Serena’s blouse at the back, then slowly slides her thumbnail up Serena’s spine. She bucks involuntarily against the blonde’s thighs, and Bernie moans into her mouth, then begins unbuttoning her blouse, while still kissing Serena.

“Think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she mutters against the blonde’s mouth.

“I do, a bit.” She draws Serena’s blouse off and tosses it aside, then unfastens her bra one-handed, and Serena pulls back, slipping her arms out of the straps of the bra before tossing it after her blouse.

“Glorious,” Bernie breathes, staring up at her with an avid expression. “Gorgeous and glorious.” She lifts her hands to cup Serena’s breasts, rubbing her thumbs across her already stiffening nipples.

“God, Bernie,” Serena whispers, a little awed. “That feels good.”

Bernie chuckles. “Oh Campbell, you wait. I’ll show you good.” She draws Serena down towards her and the brunette gasps when her breast is engulfed in a warm, wet mouth. She’s startled when she feels Bernie shifting her until she realises she’s repositioned her so that she’s straddling a well-muscled thigh. She rocks her hips, then moans when she feels a delicious pressure between her own thighs. Bernie soon drops her right hand from Serena’s hip and slides it between their bodies, pushing inside her trousers and increasingly damp knickers to slide her fingers over her mound. She groans when two of Bernie’s fingers push into her slick heat, then begin moving in and out in a fast, hard rhythm which promises to bring her to a quick release.

Between the thrusting of Bernie’s fingers and the rocking of her own hips as she straddles the blonde’s thigh, Serena comes to a climax even sooner than she’d anticipated.

Bernie guides her to lie down again, her fingers still buried inside Serena and guiding her through the aftershocks of her orgasm.

“Fuck,” she moans into the crook of Bernie’s neck. “Fuck.”

A laugh rumbles from Bernie’s chest. “I believe I did.”

“When you said it’d be good, I wasn’t expecting it to be that good.” Serena nuzzles against Bernie’s ear.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Bernie murmurs.

“To be fair, all my experiences of sex have been with men thus far.”

“Ouch.”

“Mmhmm.” Serena feels sleepy, sated, and actually satisfied by a sexual encounter, and she cannot remember when such satisfaction last happened.

“Are you going to sleep on me, Campbell?” Bernie asks, her voice light and teasing.

“Mm. Maybe.”

Bernie chuckles, then helps Serena to lie down beside her before sliding off her trousers and knickers.

“You look delicious in nothing but these stockings,” she murmurs, and Serena lifts her head from the pillow to where Bernie’s kneeling between her legs. 

“Delicious?” she repeats doubtfully.

“Oh yes. I bet you taste delicious, too.” And before Serena can work out what the blonde means, she’s bending her head and dragging her tongue up the length of her sex. She feels her body twitch when Bernie hums in obvious pleasure against her clit, before she begins driving her tongue in and out of Serena’s sex. The thrusts are gentler than when she’d used her fingers before, but they still send her pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in her belly, her desire making her chest flush with heat and want.

“Fuck, Bernie. Oh fuck. Oh god. God. Don’t stop. Please. Don’t stop.” Serena’s panting, the words stuttering out of her mouth as her climax builds towards its peak, and then she’s crying out incoherently as her hips buck, despite Bernie’s hands carefully holding her down. 

Gradually she becomes aware that Bernie’s pressing very light kisses to her thighs, which are trembling in the aftermath of her second, yet more intense, orgasm.

“Bloody hell, woman,” she says, her chest still heaving as she tries to regain control of her breathing.

Bernie lifts her head and smirks up at her. “Good?”

“Very good indeed,” she says. “Now get up here, will you?”

Bernie crawls up the bed on hands and knees, and Serena can’t help thinking that she must make a sight, all long, toned legs and pert bum clad only in her grey boxer shorts.

“My turn,” Serena growls, and shoves the shorts down as best she can.

Bernie chuckles, then removes them properly, tossing them carelessly to the floor. “Gonna give as good as you got, Campbell?” she teases.

“That’s the plan.” Serena pulls her lover down over her body. “That is definitely the plan.”

SC-BW-SC-BW-SC

By the time Jason Haynes returns to his Aunty Serena’s leafy detached he has decided that he wants to complete some form of further education, probably at the local college, but he also wants to continue working as a porter at Holby City. He likes his job a lot – it’s very interesting and he enjoys helping people. 

In celebration of his impending independence as a student he doesn’t ring his Aunty Serena to let him know his train’s arrived at the station. Instead he takes the bus and arrives home around the middle of the afternoon. He lets himself into the house and removes his shoes and coat, putting them in their proper places on the shoe rack and the coat hook. He notices a vaguely familiar pair of ankle boots on the coat rack and an even more vaguely familiar leather jacket on the coat hook next to his Aunt’s red wool coat. He picks up his case and starts up the stairs with it; he’s half way up when he hears a lot of moaning from his Aunty Serena’s room and he worries, for a moment, that Robbie the policeman has come back, but then he hears his friend Bernie’s voice:

“You’re getting better at that, Campbell.”

A rich chuckle from Serena follows, then she says, “Well, they do say practice makes perfect.”

A low hum, from Bernie, he thinks, then, “What time did you say Jason’s train was due to get in?”

“Soon, I think.”

Jason, for one moment, considers knocking on his Aunt’s bedroom door to tell her that he’s already home, then he decides to wait until she and his friend Bernie have finished what they’re doing. He knows, although he would far rather not, what it sounds like when his Aunty Serena is having sexual intercourse, and he knows very well not to interrupt unless it’s a life and death situation.

He heads into his bedroom to begin unpacking his bag and considers, with satisfaction, how nice it is for his Aunty Serena and his friend Bernie to have got together during his absence. It’s not something he planned when he suggested Bernie stay at Serena’s during Summer School, but he is happy it’s happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to everyone who's worked their way through this epic. It's the longest fic I've written in four years, but it was worth to me because writing for Berena is a pleasure.


End file.
